


The Cowboy and the Angel

by Reyfornow, Squeevening



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Consensual Underage Sex, Dean has uncomfortable sex with someone else before Castiel, Discussion of corporal punishment, M/M, Somehow no one dies, Sweet soul comfort food just read it :-D, Wing Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:40:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24240718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reyfornow/pseuds/Reyfornow, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squeevening/pseuds/Squeevening
Summary: An angel saves a young cowboy from death at the hands of a filthy night creature. The cowboy returns the favor when the angel is mortally wounded, and both their lives are changed forever as their souls begin to bond.This story is poignant but sweet, and while I wasn't sure about it at first because I thought it was *too* sweet, I reread it last night and it still made me cry like three times so I have come around to loving it. :-D  I hope you love it too.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 66
Kudos: 91





	1. Twelve

The first time Dean saw an angel, he was twelve and it was dead, limply draped over the horse behind the drover’s saddle, its white feathers filthy with mud and caked with blood, and Dean stared at it while the drover bragged to his father about how much money the feathers would bring from the Shamans he would sell them to. Dean couldn’t see the creature’s face under its dirty yellow hair, and that felt like a blessing, given the stories he’d heard and only half believed around the campfires at night. 

He hadn’t really believed they were real, or that they sucked the blood out of the cattle, his dad had said that was vampires and he had no reason to doubt his father, but here was a real one and he was glad his little brother Sammy hadn’t come to town that day because Sammy liked angels. He liked to draw them in the sand, and he liked to wonder out loud if they were as big and as pretty as Dad said they were, then how come he had never seen one, how come no one had?

  
Dean figured it was probably because of the other things Dad had said about them, like that they were fast, and smart, and really good at hiding, but he didn’t say it out loud.

Then Dad would shush Sammy and tell him to eat his dinner so Dean could finish cleaning up the dinner things before bed, and Dad would wander down to hang out with the men and Dean would feel like life was unfair. He was old enough to sit with the men, so why did  _ he  _ have to stay in the tent with Sammy, but he never said it out loud.

He just felt it, on the inside, where you could think things, and as long as your face didn’t show the things you were thinking, no one hit you.


	2. Sixteen

The next time Dean saw an angel, he was sixteen. He was on a cattle drive with Sammy and Dad and a few other men, changing pastures. It should have been routine.

But a steer had turned up dead one night, drained of blood, and another the next night, and everyone was on edge, the horses stomping and snorting and the men muttering in low voices, and they’d decided to patrol at dusk.

Dean had a rifle, but the vampire took him by surprise, spooked his horse and he was thrown, landing heavily on a patch of sand under the creature as it pinned him silently to the ground, one filthy hand over his mouth, its fangs glistening as it licked its lips and lowered its head to Dean’s throat, and then there it was, wild and beautiful, shaped like a man but for the flash of black feathers Dean saw folding away as the angel landed in the sand beside him, Dean’s eyes already flared as wide as they could go as the angel gripped the vampire’s head in both hands and twisted roughly sideways, the sickening crack of breaking bones at least stopping it from ripping Dean’s throat out, even though he knew that couldn’t kill it.

The angel lifted an eyebrow at Dean as if to say “Well?” and Dean pulled himself together enough to reach for the stake in his hip holster, grimacing as he drove it into the creature’s heart, the scream it let out alerting everyone in a two mile radius that he needed help, and Dean stared up at the angel above him, silhouetted in the dusk, it’s eyes practically glowing under a shock of dark hair almost as dark as its wings, its chest heaving as it stared down at Dean.

Dean wasn’t sure what was happening. If it wanted to kill him like the stories warned, then it wouldn’t have helped him kill the vampire, probably, but he - it was  _ definitely  _ a he, rippling with sharp, angular muscle above a loincloth that wasn’t hiding much - was making a face, concentrating on him.

Dean caught a flash of an image in his mind, a canyon miles ahead, more of the creatures waiting for darkness to fall, and his eyes widened in fear as the angel sent him a feeling.

_ Wait. _

He saw the canyon ahead of them in his mind, the sun rising and setting over it in rapid fast forward, and that feeling again. 

_ Wait. _

Dean nodded that he understood, and the angel smiled at him, brilliant white teeth, a flash of pink gums; the most gorgeous smile he’d ever seen in his life, and then it was gone and Sam was the first one there, his horse flecked with white, looking more scared than Dean had ever seen him as he leapt from the saddle and made sure that Dean was okay.

“I need you to tell them you had a premonition!” 

Dean was breathless and urgent, and Sam did not understand.

“To  _ lie? Why?  _ What  _ happened? _ ”

“I can’t tell you now, I’ll tell you later. You had a premonition that there are more vampires in that canyon and we have to wait a day before we move on, the strongest you’ve ever had. It hit you when you got here and saw the vampire.”

Sam nodded, his trust in Dean absolute, and when their father and the men arrived, Sam told the lie with such conviction Dean would have loved him even more if that were possible, inside where no one knew what you were feeling and you could not get in trouble for feeling it.

The men argued with their father John in loud voices around the campfire, while Sam and Dean huddled in their tent, and when Dean whispered what he had seen to Sam, Sam was astonished. Dean did not tell Sam that the angel had smiled at him though, nor about the warm feeling that had pooled in his stomach when he had, and that night he dreamed of jet black feathers, spread in flight.

In the morning the men could not agree.

Some of the men said that only a woman could be a soothsayer and some of them said that maybe John’s son  _ was  _ a woman, and Dean’s hands stiffened into fists when he saw Sam trying not to cry. Sam could not seem to learn to feel only on the inside but it made Dean love him even more, if that were possible, and he stepped into the circle of men and he said if they went today they would all die. The force of his conviction was enough that they grumbled and swore and agreed to wait one more day, but Dean must give up his share, and Dean told them to go fuck themselves, and John sent Dean to his tent and quietly agreed to give up his share if they could find no sign of vampires the next day. Everyone ate half rations that night and glared at Sammy, who did not say a word.

But Dean gave Sam his rations under the cover of darkness, even though Sam tried not to let him, he was  _ always  _ hungry and growing like a tumbleweed, and that night Dean dreamed of fire and blood and of dirty teeth sinking into his stomach, and he woke, terrified, with Sam’s hand over his mouth so he didn’t wake their father. 

Sam’s eyes were huge and his lip trembled in the dark, and Dean dared to hug him, clinging to his little brother for just a moment before letting go and turning away to try to sleep a little more, his stomach growling in the dark like the things that had been in his dream.

In the morning the sky threatened rain and the men were angry. They hustled the cattle across the plains towards the tall, narrow canyon, and when they entered it they found the remains of a battle. Ashes and vampire corpses littered the ground, dozens of them, decapitated with their heads burned in the fire, and the men were very quiet as they urged the cattle and their nervous horses around the edges of the pile of headless corpses, staring surreptitiously at John and his soothsayer son, who carefully did not look at his big brother.

Dean looked everywhere but he did not see an angel, and he felt such sorrow he shut his eyes and concentrated really hard and sent out a feeling.

_ Are you safe? _

Dean listened as hard as he could with his inside feelings, his face completely blank as always, and his chest ached when the reply came, the images laced with the smell of smoke and death.

A flash of red. A funeral pyre, loved ones lost. __

_ Anguish, and sorrow, and a burning pain low in his gut.  _

_ A flash of despair, quickly covered, then a warm feeling Dean did not understand, and a gentle farewell. _

Dean’s eyes prickled with tears, and he sent back just as hard as he could.

_ I’m sorry. _

He sent gratitude, concentrating as hard as he had ever concentrated in his life, and he sent as clear a sense memory as he could remember of the leaves and the flowers and the bitter scent of the desert plant his mother had taught him healed the septic death that came from vampire bites. 

Their mother had known things other people did not, they came to her in her dreams like they sometimes did to Sammy now, and he tried to explain that too but all he managed to send was sorrow that he missed her and a fuzzy memory of her face and Dean abruptly stopped trying to send anything at all.

They were getting further away and he was dragging behind and his father yelled at him to catch up so he nudged his horse to go a little faster, and he could feel that he was almost out of range when the answer came, weak, but definitely there.

_ Hope. _

Dean shut his eyes to blink away the danger of tears, and this time, for the first time in his life, there was something that felt important that he did not tell Sam.

  
  
  


***

  
  


That night, Dean’s dreams were not his own.

_ He was learning to fly, small and trembling with fear but his father showed him how to spread his wings again and again, leaping from the cliff face and returning to his side to demonstrate, angrily shooing away the other boys who laughed at him and told him black wings could never fly. Dean could feel his shame at being different and ugly but his father was patient and kind and waiting for him, and he spread his wings and leapt from the cliff face, exhilarated as he soared for a dozen wingspans and then screaming as he missed a beat and fell, his father catching him in his powerful arms and whispering that it was okay, that was enough for today, he’d get it next time, Dean could smell his father’s scent and his stomach twisted with more than the burning pain it already pulsed with, he missed his father so much - _

_ He was at his father’s side, his body thick and strong, his blade sharp and deadly but he was too late, the creature’s teeth had torn his father’s flesh and there was no cure for the bite. His father’s eyes were already dimming as his blood stained the earth, his voice slowing and deepening and saying horrible things Dean knew his father had never said, would never say, but the poison low in his gut burned and pulsed and the fever racked his body as his father’s eyes burst into flames, his eye sockets turning black as flames rose all around him and in Dean’s mind, instead of the soft words of love and farewell his father had really whispered, he used his dying breath to scream the things the children had always said and the young men didn’t say anymore but still thought, even though Dean knew he could fly, he could fight, he was better and faster than any of them, and Dean felt despair, shame and sorrow and he opened his mouth to apologize for disappointing his father with the abomination of his existence but there was a plant growing out of his stomach, up his throat and flowering in his mouth, bitter and he was choking - _

Dean woke with Sam holding him, still racked with sobs, and he wept silently into his brother’s shoulder, his body still burning.

In the morning Dean’s body was still on fire, his tongue thick and wooly, and his father stripped him and searched his body for any wounds but could not find a mark on him. Dean could not eat, and he was shivering too violently to ride on his own. In the end John and Sam wrapped him in a blanket and propped him up against their stacked bedrolls and lashed him to his horse, taking turns riding beside him and worrying.

That night Dean’s sweat soaked through his clothes and his bedding and for the first time since he was a child he wet his bedroll, delirious and arguing in strange tongues in his sleep, and Sam washed him and dressed him again and lashed him to his horse with the help of his father, who was so terrifying none of the men dared grumble even once that they were all working extra to pick up Dean’s slack, and Sam and John did not look at one another as they forced Dean to drink water and prayed to any god listening and to Dean’s mother in heaven that they not lose him, too.

Dean thrashed and twitched and shivered, reclined on his damp bedroll, staring up at the sky, but in his mind he was flying, he would never come down, he’d stay up here forever because up here his father was alive and he was loved and there were no herbs that made him want to vomit being poured down his throat by a skeptical medicine man, who nevertheless seemed eager to try something new on a dying volunteer who claimed he’d had a vision.

That night Sam forced Dean to drink water and he shared his dry bedroll with his brother, quietly sobbing, and as the sky began to lighten Dean’s fever broke, and he slept peacefully, and Sam crept to his father’s tent to tell him but his father was not there, he was sitting by the embers of the fire, his cheeks streaked with clear tracks through the dust of the plains, and when Sam told him Dean’s fever had broken for the first time Sam could ever remember John wrapped his arms around his youngest son and held him, quietly weeping into his hair.

In the morning Dean did not know what day it was or that he had been sick, he remembered only that he had been flying, but he did not say so out loud. He only apologized for not doing his share of the work, and John pretended to grumble but he was whistling when he packed up the horses and that was when Dean understood he had almost died. 

They had ridden almost all day, Dean’s mind entirely blank, when he realized he could not fly. He remembered the pain in his stomach, and the taste of the bitter herb, and he thought this must mean his angel had not died either. 

Dean was startled by the thought, and the way his chest felt warm when he thought it. He did not know what made the angel his, he just understood that he  _ was _ , and as his thoughts turned to his angel he felt a deep sorrow he would never see him again, and he shut his eyes and reached out with his mind, knowing it was too far, knowing he would not be heard.

_ My name is Dean. _

They’d camped and made dinner and Dean had been astonished that his father had done the dinner dishes and Dean was laying out his almost dry bedroll that smelled even more like horses than usual when the answer came, and Dean was surprised that it felt a little stronger than the last time. Perhaps the range hadn’t been too far, perhaps his angel had been weakened?

_ Castiel. I am Castiel. _

He caught a flash of sky, the same as the one above him but with the moon much, much larger, and he realized his angel had  _ followed  _ him. Dean pretended he needed to relieve himself to slip away from Sammy and stare up at the sky, to no avail, it was clear and empty.

_ Gratitude.  _

So strong Dean fell to his knees, and then he felt that same warmth, shimmering and beautiful, and he could not name it but he could return it, and when he did, he felt joy, joy that soared up and up towards the moon, the sky changing as he shut his eyes, dizzy, and then Sammy was beside him, steadying him, his hand warm and grounding on Dean’s bare shoulder.

“Are you okay, Dean?”

“Yes, Sammy. I’m so sorry I scared you.”

Sam’s eyes were huge in the moonlight, and when his lip trembled Dean held out his arms and Sam melted into them like he had when he was little, even though he wasn’t little anymore, and men weren’t supposed to hug, and Dean felt warmth again, not the same but not entirely different, and he thought maybe he could name it after all.

Dean was almost asleep, Sam’s arms still around his neck like when he’d been small and their father had roughly told them to stop it, when the farewell feeling came, and his heart hurt as he sent a goodbye, laced with the dazzled feeling he’d felt when  _ Castiel  _ had smiled at him.

After a few minutes, faint but definitely there, he received shy delight, and an image of himself on his back, the creature dead on the ground beside him. He’d never seen himself like that before, only shaving in tiny scraps of mirrors now and then, and in the saloon mirror behind his father, and he was shocked to see that he looked like a full-grown man now, his eyes still wide from surprise under the brim of the dusty hat that had somehow never left his head, his chest heaving panicked breath over his lips, his boots filthy, but flattering, poking out from under his well-worn chaps. The feeling that  _ Castiel  _ sent last was still warmth, but lower in his body, and Dean lay awake for a long time waiting to sleep after that, Sam’s arms around his neck keeping Dean’s hands firmly at his sides.


	3. Seventeen

Dean turned seventeen on a day like any other. He and Dad were on a supply run into town, and Dean hadn’t thought anything of it when Dad declared that Sammy had to help Uncle Bobby with chores today; Dad was capricious and moody and Dean and Sam had just shared a look and done as they were told. 

The town was small but a welcome sight all the same, and Dean sent his angel an image of the outside of the saloon Dad had chosen, and a muted feeling of celebration that it was his birthday. He wondered, suddenly, if angels celebrated birthdays and he sent the question as an afterthought, without expecting a reply. There was never any reply, but sharing his inside thoughts with someone felt good, like having a friend, and once he’d started sending them he had not stopped. 

Dean had never had a friend besides Sammy, but Sammy was different. He would never send Sam any of the very specific warm feelings he’d sent  _ Castiel  _ late at night, and he flushed now even thinking about it, as John pushed open the saloon door and beckoned Dean inside.

This saloon was not like any of the others Dean had ever visited. It was as if the color red had exploded like a ripe steer carcass in the sun, spraying every wall with dripping red fabric everywhere there wasn’t a painting of a naked woman, and Dean’s face slowly turned as red as the walls as his father waved around and told him it was time to become a man, Happy Birthday, Son, pick any woman you like, my treat.

Dean’s father was already heading up the stairs with a girl on each arm when Dean’s mouth closed from gaping, certain, suddenly, that he could not make the one choice he actually wanted, which was to leave this place immediately. He hid the panic in his heart from his face as the young women descended on him, more soft flesh than he had ever seen bare in one place, red lips and bouncing yellow hair and colorful dresses and he had never been more uncomfortable in his life and he shut his eyes for a second to collect himself and when he opened them he looked up because he felt someone watching him from the stairs. She was older than the others, so old Dean thought she might be thirty. Her lips were soft with amusement, but her jaw was sharp and angular and she had black hair and dark eyebrows and she was wearing black feathers around her neck, and when Dean could not look away she stepped down the stairs and across the room to shoo away the chattering girls and slip her arm through his.

“This young man has taste,” the Madam declared, and her voice was soft like silk but in this place it was also the law, and the younger women pouted but stepped away without argument as she led him away, dazed, up the stairs, and into a room that was red but also gold, Dean’s dusty leathers completely incongruous here, and he stood uncertainly where she released him, his fear strong but his face completely blank.

The Madam peeled her gloves off slowly, one at time, each finger separately, and Dean watched her, mesmerized. She started to unwind the feather boa from her neck, but Dean’s eyes followed her fingers in a different way, dismay bleeding into his carefully blank face, and the Madam stopped unwinding the boa, studying his face as she stepped forward to tickle the back of his hand with the end of the feathers.

Dean shuddered, he couldn’t help it, gooseflesh racing up and down his spine and the warm feeling pooling low in his gut, and the Madam smiled at him. It was the wrong smile and that hurt his chest, but he tried to smile back, because he was polite, and she was nice.

The Madam was not, actually, nice; nice did not get you anywhere in this life, but she was shrewd, and she was kind, even though she didn’t have to be, and she told Dean to take off his boots and his trousers and to lay down here, where she patted the bed.

Dean did as he was told, taking off his shirt too, by accident, but the lady just smiled again and did not seem to mind. When he lay down he did not feel any warm feelings anymore, he felt cold and unhappy, but the Madam knelt beside him and she told him to shut his eyes, and she slowly tickled him with her feathers until he was warm all over, his breath coming hard and fast, and then she told him to think of someone who made him feel happy, and she lifted her skirt and sat down in his lap and slowly rode him, her body moving up and down while she trailed feathers over his face and chest, and Dean’s mind went somewhere else, somewhere clear and blue and he was leaping from a cliff face, black feathers holding him aloft, and maybe he could fly or maybe someone was carrying him, he did not know.

When the Madam finally coaxed his climax from him Dean made no sound, but his fingers clutched at her feathers, and his eyes were wet when he finally opened them to look up at her, his face soft with sorrow. Her eyes were gentle, the back of her hand brushing his lips as she whispered, “ _ Oh, Sweet boy, it will be alright. I won’t tell a soul.”  _

Dean did not know what she meant, but he said thank you and she said you’re welcome, before she climbed off him and gave him a clean rag and slipped away. He did what needed to be done and got dressed and found his way back downstairs, his skin crawling with embarrassment, to find his father waiting for him, slightly drunk, and boisterous, and in a very good mood. 

When his father slapped him on the back and said, “That’s my boy! You’re a man, now, son!” Dean smiled weakly, and nodded, and he had never been more embarrassed and simultaneously grateful in his life when the Madam smoothly stepped up beside him and slipped her arm around his waist and told his father he was a  _ stallion, _ she would be sore for  _ days, _ and next time John was in town she’d give him free drinks and an extra round with any girl he liked just for having had the pleasure of meeting his boy.

John was delighted and Dean was relieved and he could not say thank you with words but he could say it with a smile, a real smile, and when he gave his smile to the Madam to thank her for her kindness her eyes were suddenly very shiny and she stepped away from him, and Dean watched her for a minute while his father finished his drink, and he hoped she had someone to think of that made her happy.

  
  


***

  
  


That night John proudly told Uncle Bobby and Sammy what the Madam had said while Dean’s skin burned as bright a red as the place he had been today. Dean excused himself to go to bed as soon as he could get away with it, and it wasn’t until he was alone in the tiny room at Uncle Bobby’s that he shared with Sam that he was finally able to breathe. He was grateful when Sam joined him that Sam did not ask him any questions, surprised when instead Sam quietly reached into the leather bag that held his dearest treasures and presented Dean with a gift wrapped in brown paper. 

It was long and flat and Dean’s skin crackled with electricity when Sam pressed it into his hands, and his fingers shook when he opened it and found a single black feather, longer than an eagle’s, tied on a strand of silk softer than any he had ever seen in his life. There was a terrible fear on his face and in his heart until his trembling fingers closed around it, and then he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that while this did belong to _his_ _Castiel,_ it had been given willingly.

“Where -  _ how - *when* - “ _

Dean fell silent, clutching it, and Sam did not laugh, but he smiled softly, and he whispered that he had found it in his saddlebag a month after Dean had gotten better from the fever last year.

“When I touched it, it  _ spoke  _ to me, Dean. It said it was for you, and to give it to you on the day you became a man. It was very important to wait until you were a man. It didn’t mean man, exactly, but it wanted to make sure you were old enough to be, I don’t know,  _ with  _ someone? And I guess that day is today?”

Dean’s eyes filled with tears then, and he told Sam he had not wanted to do it but he had not seen a way out, and Sam whispered that he understood and that he didn't even  _ like  _ cows, and Dean laughed through his tears and he put the string around his neck, and tucked the feather into his shirt, and when Castiel’s feather brushed against his chest he gasped and sat down on the bed, because it spoke to him, too.

Joy. Delight. A feeling of celebration on the occasion of the day of his birth.

Dean waved a hand to dismiss Sam’s concern, and then he said he needed some air and he stumbled outside under the stars and sat heavily on the ground and stared at the sky.

_ Are you near? _

Dean saw a flash of stars, different from his, many days Travel past the vampire canyon in the opposite direction from where he was now.

_ How can you hear me? _

Soft amusement. Fondness, and a flood of warmth.

_ I could always hear you. _

Dean was astonished, his breath trapped in his chest as he tried to remember every thought he had ever sent, every confession, every image, his face flushing bright red for the umpteenth time this day at the things he’d sent late at night.

_ I thought you were too far away to hear me. _

A heartbeat passed. Another. 

A flash of apology.

_ I know. I’m sorry. I needed you to be absolutely certain. _

_ Of what? How are we talking, do you speak English? _

_ What is English? _

_ My language. _

Dean could feel Castiel’s gentle amusement. He was almost too tired to bristle, but he felt the apology, too, and he was startled; he hadn’t realized he was sending anything.

_ If you don’t want me to feel what you feel, remove my feather from your flesh. _

Dean made no move to obey. He liked the way Castiel thought “your flesh”, and he thought about that for a while as he waited.

_ Our minds need no language to convey meaning. I think in my language, and you hear me in yours. Yes, I admire your flesh, but your heart is even more beautiful than your body. _

Dean gasped, the warmth flooding his chest entirely his, but he could feel Castiel feeling it, tasting it, shyly returning it.

_ Why did you let me talk to you every day for almost a year without answering?  _

_ I can’t send as far as you can. You are the strongest I have ever felt. But even if I could, I needed you to be certain. I asked your brother to wait to give you my feather so I would not be tempted to answer until you were certain. _

_ Of *what*? _

Dean felt a flood of emotion that wasn’t his, yearning laced with uncertainty, soft hope, a strong feeling that _honor_ must be upheld, and underneath it all _desire,_ fierce and hot, embers banked and waiting on his reaction.

_ I will not take advantage of a child.  _

Dean was suddenly furious, and he lashed out defensively without meaning to, regretting it instantly.

A gentle apology. An image of a tree planted at Castiel’s birth by his mother; a sapling seen through the eyes of a child, then again more recently.

It was a pretty big tree, and Dean was silent for several heartbeats, considering.

He sent his recollection of the flash of warmth Castiel had sent him when they had parted, with a question. They both knew he had treasured the memory, Dean sending  _ many _ answers over the last year that had received no reply, and when the answer came this time it was tinged with shame.

_ I had not yet understood you were pure. _

Dean sat with that one a minute, not really sure how to feel about it, besides horribly embarrassed that somehow the thoughts he’d been sending had outed him as a virgin. He finally sent a vague montage of recollections of constant travel with his family, the dust and the cowhands spitting tobacco and wiping sweat across their faces, the only women he’d seen in years slinging beer at the saloons his Dad dragged him to, and kind of a mental shrug.

He was rewarded with mirth, lilting and bright, and he held his breath in delight as he felt Castiel’s laughter ringing in his heart, through the feather he imagined felt warm against his chest.

_ Your choices were perhaps limited, but still. I needed you to be certain. Your brother promised he would hold my gift in trust. Have you lain with a human?  _

Dean felt ashamed, suddenly, and embarrassed, and like it wasn’t any of Castiel’s business.

_ Have you banged an angel? _

_ No. None will have me, nor have I ever desired to. But I am unclean; I cannot be pure. _

Dean suddenly remembered the young angels in the dream, with their bright yellow hair and sparkling white wings, calling Castiel ugly, and he felt terrible for asking. He sent warmth, and an apology, and the way he had felt when the Madam had told him to close his eyes and think of someone who made him happy, soft feathers tickling his face.

_ You are the most beautiful person I have ever seen. I did it, but I didn’t want her. I wanted you. _

Dean lay on his back in the rough grass with his hands interlocked behind his head. He shut his eyes and sent his memories of the whole thing, his father’s declaration, his fear, how he’d had to shut his eyes, the kindness of the Madam and the things she had whispered, his embarrassment and his gratitude at the things she had told his father. 

When he was done he could feel Castiel’s speechlessness as kind of a shocked horror, and Dean lay there feeling a little less alone and a lot like a huge weight was lifted from his chest, until the answer came, the feeling of apology laced with soft comfort that made his eyes sting and his chest tight.

_ I should not have waited. You were already mine. _

Dean nodded yes, whispered yes, sent  _ yes  _ as hard as he could, and when the answer came this time he opened his eyes to stare up at the stars but they were blurry.

_ Then I pledge to you, the life you saved. When I felt your presence, I was drawn to you. It is forbidden to reveal ourselves to humans, but I was compelled to discover what manner of human could call to me just by drawing near. I wanted you the moment I first saw you, but I fell in love with you when you whispered to me in the dark. _

Dean had never heard such words spoken out loud in his life, and he still hadn’t, technically, but now he had a name for the warmth he was feeling, a name for how he had felt about  _ Castiel _ since he’d shared his angel's dreams, but he did not dare think those words. 

So he sent others.

_ You saved mine first.  _

_ Only because it would have been a crime to let your pretty face be torn from your perfect body. _

Dean’s face was sore from blushing so much today but it made a valiant attempt anyway, and he shook his head in the darkness at the heat pooling in his body.

_ I’m gonna have to get my own room. _

_ Sleep. We will find a way to be together soon. _

Castiel sent sleepiness, and Dean found himself yawning and stumbling inside to pull off his leathers and lay down beside his brother, squeezing his brother’s shoulder once when he mumbled good night.

Exhausted as he was, Dean could not sleep until he worked up the courage to send the thought.

_ I… give you my life, too. _

No thoughts or images came, but this time Castiel’s feather really was warm against his chest,  _ love  _ radiating from it, so strong that Dean’s chest ached and Sam stirred in his sleep, sighing, Dean already gently snoring before Sam’s eyes fluttered open to stare at his brother in quiet wonder.


	4. Seventeen and One Day

In the morning, Sam shook Dean awake to whisper to him, his eyes urgent.

“I had a premonition.”

Dean’s eyes blinked open, dazed, and he focused on Sam’s face, glowing above him in the sunbeams streaming through the knotholes, only with great difficulty. 

“Yeah?”

“There was a city built into the side of a cliff, and there were angels flying around, with beautiful white wings, and then - and then -”

Sam faltered, the shaggy brown hair falling into his face absolutely not managing to hide his embarrassment, and Dean’s face flushed to match as Sam looked down to continue.

“And then there was a room, and a bed, I guess, more like a nest of pillows and blankets, and you were there, and you were so happy, kissing an angel with black wings and, uh, he had almost no clothes on, and then he pushed you down and climbed on top -”

Dean cleared his throat and Sam fell silent, the moment stretching between them, excruciatingly embarrassing.

“I had that dream too, Sam. I think you heard  _ Castiel’s  _ dream with me.”

“Oh -  _ Oh -  _ is that his name? Your - your  _ angel? _ ”

Sam’s whisper was entirely awe and delight, without a hint of reproach, and Dean couldn’t help himself, he just threw his arms around his little brother and squeezed him so tight he squeaked.

When he let go, Dean’s face wasn’t carefully blank, it held every feeling at once, and Sam stared at him in shocked awe.

“Yeah,” Dean finally managed, his voice ever so slightly trembling. “His name is  _ Castiel _ , and we’re gonna be together soon. I don’t know how, but we  _ will _ . Thank you for keeping his feather secret - and safe - for me for so long. I need you to not tell anyone, okay?  _ Especially  _ not Dad.”

Sam nodded immediately, but his face said  _ Of *course* we can’t tell Dad, *duh*,  _ and Dean would have loved him even more in that moment, if that were possible.

“I’ll ask him how to hide the dreams from you, okay? I don’t know if they have angel soothsayers, but they  _ probably _ do.”

“It was a nice dream, Dean. You don’t  _ have  _ to ask -”   
  


“Oh _hells_ _yes_ I do.”

Sam laughed and Dean tousled his hair and Dean waited until Sam left the room so he could wipe out his underclothes as best he could with the sock he had been reserving for this purpose.

He sent a shy good morning, laced with the warmth he’d felt returning the kisses in Castiel’s dreams. Castiel hadn’t shared more of his dream than endless kisses, their bodies lying down together, chest to chest, impossibly powerful arms wrapping around him, but he had wanted more; had imagined more, had dreamed his own dreams filled with longing and confused fumbling in the dark and _heat,_ _so much heat -_ he had dreamed Castiel’s tongue in his mouth and his body above him, feathers touching his face, and then -

Castiel’s response felt like a fond smile with a single raised eyebrow, and Dean startled, sheepish. He had forgotten that Castiel could feel what he was feeling.

_ I can’t help it. You’re all I think about. _

_ I cherish your eagerness. I worry only that when we come together I will not be able to compete with whatever prowess you imagine for me.  _

Dean sent the feeling of an eyeroll and a promise that Castiel was being ridiculous, and Castiel sent him what could only be described as a smirk.

_ In your culture do you not revere your elders? _

_ Ha! Not the ones we want to - _

“Dean! Dad says get the hell out of bed! _ ” _

Dean fell out of bed in his haste to get dressed, sending a jumbled sense of urgency and apology as he yanked his leathers and boots on and bolted out the door, and receiving what very much felt like - if he was not mistaken - an attempt to smooth his feathers.

  
  


***

  
  


Dean spent his day hunting coyotes along Uncle Bobby’s southern fence line. The calves would be coming soon, and he knew it was necessary, but he took no pleasure in it like some of the hired hands, making a clean kill whenever he could and pretending to miss when he couldn’t; racking his brains the entire time for how he was going to break any of this to his father.

“I’m gonna jump the broom with an angel,” just didn’t work as a literal statement, not that he knew if there even was marriage or anything like that for angels, but Castiel had pledged his  _ life _ , and Dean had promised the same, and wasn’t that basically the same thing?

They obviously weren’t going to have children to worry about, Castiel was  _ most definitely not _ any kind of woman, and Dean knew instinctively that while he  _ did not care - _ he thought he might even  _ prefer  _ that Castiel was not a woman - __ he knew that his father absolutely  _ would _ care. He worried about that, and about how he would make enough money to buy food for both of them - what did angels eat? Did Castiel need clothes? Would he have to afford to get them a permanent room somewhere? What happened when it was time to drive the cattle North again?

Dean’s spiral was cut short by a flood of gentle affection, soft amusement radiating outwards from the feather he kept forgetting he was wearing, and he sucked in a deep breath and slowly let it out, waiting to hear what Castiel would say.

_ Your thoughts are softer than newborn feathers, Dean. You make the breath in my lungs thin like the highest mountain winds, but you need not care for me in the ways you imagine. I have many valuable skills. I can hunt for myself. I am stronger than ten human men, maybe more. I can heal wounds of the flesh, at least the ones not made by the filthy twisted night demons. You need not clothe me or shelter me, beloved human, you need only stand with your back to mine against the world, and perhaps lie with your front to mine in the night - _

_ Oh god, yes, please. _

Dean surreptitiously wiped the dust from his eyes in case anyone was looking his way, worrying, now, only about telling his father.

_ Leave your father to me. I have never flown more swiftly, but I must rest when night falls. I will be by your side tomorrow, at dusk. _

Dean’s eyes practically popped out of his head, but he managed to hide it before anyone looked his way.

_ You’re on your way??? _

_ I asked the elders and they forbid me to bring a human here. When I asked if an exception could not be made for the inviolate sanctity of a soul bond, they said it could perhaps be done, but that it would not be fair to you. You cannot fly, and thus would be trapped wherever I left you, as a nestling, or a pet. I desire neither a child nor a pet, Dean, I wish to mate you as an equal. I will come to you, where you can ride and fight and live with honor, in the world of men. I have no kin left, but if yours will have me, perhaps that need not remain my fate. _

Castiel's thoughts felt shy, and hopeful, and Dean’s body felt warm all over from the soft, yearning feelings that were wrapped inside the word ‘mate’, and the shimmering, ethereal glow of the phrase 'soul bond'.

_ My brother will be your brother, Castiel, he is the best person I know, with the biggest heart in the entire world, even when it gets him in trouble, and he would follow me to the ends of the earth if I'd let him. I can’t speak for my father, but it's not even that you’re an angel. I don't think he’s gonna like that you’re not, um... _

Dean trailed off uncomfortably, and he could feel Castiel waiting.

_ A woman. _

Castiel’s soft amusement was comforting, somehow, but Dean fidgeted uncomfortably, and his horse snorted underneath him until he absently stroked his mane.

_ Why? You have been a man one turn of the sun by your father’s measure, does he desire grandchildren so soon? Does he not think you have enough work to do toiling under the sun so that he may spend your wages, while also preparing the meals for your family and raising his youngest son? _

Dean found himself fighting tears, suddenly, and he weakly sent a protest, but Castiel sent what felt like a stern head shake and two raised eyebrows.

_ I have watched your heart for four seasons, Dean. I have eyes, and mine have seen more than yours, beautiful as they are. You are a wonderful father, but even you cannot raise new nestlings on horseback. _

Dean felt warm now, all over but especially in his chest, not at the physical compliment so much as thinking about how much he loved Sam, and how Castiel could see that inside him the whole time without him saying anything. He tucked that feeling away to treasure forever, sucked in a deep breath, and tried to explain. 

_ I don’t think Dad wants me to have kids, I mean, not that I know of. It’s not about that.  _

_ I do not understand. Why must you breed, then? Has your council decreed there are not enough humans? If you must provide your seed I will respect your council, but surely you can dispense with this duty and return to me with haste. I will help you raise your children if they do not stay with the mothers, although it will be very difficult in your line of work - _

_ No? We don't have a council for all humans, and the ones we've got have never tried to force anyone to have kids. That weren't already in-calf I guess, but that's a whole other can of worms. _

_ So your father does not desire his line extended, and there is no procreation decree, yet an adult human cannot love who they choose? Do humans believe a soul is bound by the flesh it inhabits? _

_ What do you mean? _

_ I think you know exactly what I mean. _

Dean thought about Castiel's question for a long while. He thought about the Madam. He thought about how all the cowhands were men and how they had called Sam a woman for his premonitions, even though he was strong and fast and smarter than any of them, even at only thirteen years old. He thought about jokes he'd heard, and how it was safer never to share what he felt on the inside with anyone but Sam, and how he’d never even said most of the things he’d sent to Castiel out loud to anyone.

_ Yes. Not just my Dad, either, I think most humans think that. But I don't. I don't care what anyone else thinks. I want to be with you so bad it hurts. _

Castiel didn't send anything for long enough that Dean started to worry, but then Castiel sent an image of a small fire and a rabbit roasting over it and that soothing feeling again, like he was petting Dean’s feathers.

_ And so you shall. I pledged you my life and you gave me yours, and once made a soul bond cannot be torn asunder. Surely your father will understand. _

_ We don't have soul bonds. _

Castiel sent utter astonishment, with a strong undercurrent of disbelief.

_ And when two humans meet and cannot fathom ever being parted, when they bond so deeply they share the span of their lives with one another, grow old and die together? What do you call it? _

Dean thought about that. He thought about the way his mother had loved his father, fiercely, absolutely, even when they fought, the way they held hands in the dark for no reason, and the light that had gone out in his father’s eyes when they'd lost her.

_ Just… love. True love, maybe? _

_ Your language lacks nuance. _

Castiel sent the flavor of roasted rabbit on his tongue, and Dean almost swooned. There hadn't been much breakfast left, only what Sam had saved him, and the hard biscuits in his pack had not held him the whole afternoon.

  
  


***

  
  


That evening Dean said even less than usual during the meal, answering his father’s questions with single syllables but no more, and when he rose to clear the table and do the dishes his father stared at him suspiciously, but there were cards to play and whiskey to be shared with the men, and John did not notice when Dean did not join the others, electing instead to sit outside, staring at the sky.

As he lay down to sleep beside his brother, Dean finally remembered something important, and he sent a question, worrying he would wake his angel.

_ Cas, my brother heard your dream last night. How can we keep that stuff private? _

Castiel’s thoughts were sleepy, affection laced with exhaustion gently radiating from the feather against Dean’s chest.

_ No one has ever shortened my name before. You did not tell me your brother was a Shaman. _

_ I’m sorry, Castiel. And he’s not, he gets premonitions sometimes, but he’s no Shaman. _

Castiel’s thoughts were like the softest down in the most luxurious comforter Dean had ever felt, in a store once with his mother, touching it before the clerk had slapped his hand away.

_ I was not chiding you. In your arms I will be reborn; you may name me as you wish. _

Dean’s skin rippled with gooseflesh as Castiel’s thoughts drifted back to sleep.

_ Only the most powerful of Shamans may eavesdrop on a thought not meant for them. Remove my feather from your flesh, or ask him not to listen, beloved human. _

Castiel was already asleep, Dean could feel him slipping away, and he lay, stunned, thinking about Sam and worrying about what his Dad was going to do but mostly wrapping himself in the soft warmth of the things Castiel had said to him.

When he dreamed, it was of endless herds of buffalo, so far below him they looked like fleas, and of the sun, warm against his feathers, chilly winds buffeting his wings.


	5. Seventeen and Two Days

In the morning, it was Dean who shook Sam awake before dawn.

“Sammy, Castiel is coming  _ here _ . Now. He said that he hopes you will be his brother.”

Sam’s eyes filled with tears, and he threw his arms around his brother and whispered,  _ “I will, I will,” _ and Dean knew right then he would never love another soul as much as he loved Sam, it was simply not possible.

Dean's voice broke as he whispered, “I better still be your favorite brother though,  _ forever, _ ” and Sam nodded into his shoulder and promised he always would, because he always knew what Dean meant, even when Dean didn’t say the same words he was feeling.

Dean let go and looked Sam in the eye to tell him the rest, this was  _ important. _

“Castiel said only a powerful Shaman could hear thoughts not meant for them, Sam. You’re gonna be rich.”

Sam snorted, but his eyes widened to discover that Dean was not joking, and his mouth fell open as Dean continued.

“I’m going to pack up some food and maybe a blanket and I am heading to meet Castiel on the trail, so that I can see him before Dad ruins everything, okay? I need you to cover for me until dusk, and then you can tell Dad I’m fine and I said I would be back tomorrow. I don’t know a good enough lie. Tell him I saved my wages for weeks and I snuck off to the town, would that work?”

They stared at each other, two minds spinning. They both knew Dean’s wages after Dad took his cut wouldn’t be enough for anything, but  _ maybe... _

“I’ll tell him I gave you mine, too, for your Birthday, but that I didn’t know what it was for, you just seemed to really really want to go back.”

Dean nodded slowly. If their father thought he had slipped away to visit the saloon again maybe he would be more amused than angry. Or, more likely, he’d beat the hell out of Sam, and they both knew it.

“It’s worth it,” Sam whispered. “He won’t hit me so hard I can’t work. So that you can be  _ happy _ , Dean, Castiel’s been flying  _ so hard _ but he’s  _ tired _ , and Dad is going to be  _ so. Mad.” _

“I changed my mind. Come with me.”

“No. They’ll know too fast, and Dad will come after us and you won’t get any time alone. You have to pretend to go after a stray cow, then ride off when no one is looking.”

Dean’s heart ached, but Sam was right, this was the only way he could be with Castiel before they had the showdown to end all showdowns with Dad, and he slipped the feather from around his neck and pressed it into Sam’s hands.

“Take this, then you can send Castiel a message if you need to tell us anything. But -”

Dean flushed absolutely furiously, the words not forming.

“I’ll take it off before you two lock horns, promise.”

Sam was grinning so hard Dean almost - but not quite - regretted giving him a charlie horse, earning several impressive punches to the ribs in the process.

“Might be the last night we share a bed, Sam.”

“ _ Good.” _

Dean grinned at his brother, tousling his hair, and then his eyes fell to their blanket.

“Don’t you  _ dare.” _

Dean laughed and slipped out of bed, to see about getting dressed and stealing extra biscuits and maybe some oats for his horse.

  
  



	6. Seventeen and His Angel

It was noon before Dean got his chance, the other men stopping to eat and smoke, and it was Sam who gave it to him, riding up to tell him he’d spotted a straggler and to whine it was  _ Dean’s turn. _

Dean rolled his eyes and mouthed  _ Thank you  _ and took off at a slow walk, waiting to urge his horse to a canter until he was a mile out from the ranch. He was an hour out before he dared send a message to Castiel, certain Castiel would have been against it if he had asked first.

_ I’m coming towards you Cas, so I can see you before you have to meet my family. I *need* to have you to myself first; I can’t stand the idea of Dad ruining everything before I even get to kiss you. It’s too late, I will already be in trouble, so don’t try to talk me out of it, just tell me when you’re close enough to answer me. Sam has your feather in case of emergency. _

Dean imagined he could feel wind in his feathers, but he knew that he was too far, and he gripped his rifle a little more firmly and absently stroked Sandstorm’s mane. Sam had named the horses since he could talk, and he had  _ insisted  _ this one, a gorgeous Steeldust, be named Sandstorm, even though Dean had kind of wanted to name him himself. Sam might not like cows, but he  _ loved  _ horses, and Dean smiled to himself thinking about his brother as he gave Sandstorm his head and relaxed into his rhythm, his boy loved to run and rarely really got to show off. 

By late afternoon Dean was an unsettling combination of tired and jittery and he still hadn’t seen a soul. He was too hungry not to stop, and he found a stream with good grazing nearby, well out of sight of the trail, to reach for his saddlebags, astonished to discover Sam had managed to slip a few apples and some dried beef in along with the hardtack Dean had laid in. He sent soft gratitude to his brother, in case he could hear him, and gave his horse an apple and some oats while he ate, explaining in a soft voice that he was sorry about the sneaking around but this was  _ important _ , he was going to meet the  _ love of his life,  _ and when Sandstorm snorted at him he looked down at himself and had to agree.

Well, here was a clear stream, and it was a sunny day.

Dean pulled off his hat and boots and leathers and undergarments and stepped into the chilly stream, cleaning himself as thoroughly as he could with cold water and without soap, because this was his  _ wedding day,  _ and when he used grass to wipe the dust from his hat and leathers and boots and dressed himself again, Sandstorm looked him up and down and nodded his head, and Dean felt a little better, even though he hadn’t heard anything from Castiel all day.

Dean mounted his steed and argued with him goodnaturedly when he chose to pick his way along the riverbed instead of heading back towards the trail as Dean asked, but it was generally the same direction and the sun was getting lower on the horizon and Dean didn’t fight too hard, absentmindedly munching on the second apple and handing the core to Sandstorm as usual, lost in thought. 

He didn’t see the shadow approaching until it was too late, two hundred pounds of angel dive bombing him like an eagle, plucking him clean from his horse, knocking the wind out of him and landing both of them on the grass of the riverbank, wings outstretched to break their fall, Castiel’s silence breaking in a flood of sheer delight,  _ love  _ hitting him so hard Dean’s chest hurt and he was knocked utterly speechless.

Which didn’t matter, because even if he had words he wouldn’t have been able to use them, Castiel’s tongue was already inside his mouth, his hands cradling Dean’s face as Dean found his bearings and reached up with gentle fingers to touch the feathers that had haunted his dreams, his first touch respectful, reverent, until Castiel’s groan vibrated in his mouth, a white hot explosion of  _ pleasure  _ in Dean’s mind and then his fingers were greedy instead, petting, raking, tugging, and Castiel threw his head back and  _ roared _ , the sound wild and gorgeous and unbelievably arousing, and somehow Dean could hear Sandstorm  _ laughing  _ at them but he didn’t care, Castiel’s hands weren’t on his face anymore they were dropping a bag from around Castiel’s waist and fighting with some sort of fur and leather trousers he was wearing and Dean let go of Castiel’s wings for just a moment, sending soothing thoughts at Castiel’s instant dismay, he just needed long enough to unbuckle and unzip, and Castiel was no longer dismayed at all he was eager and breathless, his battle against his trousers won as they fell to the earth.

Dean wasn’t sure what to do next but Castiel entertained no such uncertainty, his wings spreading wider than two horses were long, flapping a couple times to lift him slightly aloft while Dean stared up at him in awe, so that Castiel could drift gently to earth again with his bare knees straddling Dean, one arm wrapping around Dean’s shoulders to tilt him back far enough to kiss him under the brim of his hat, the other reaching between them to align their bodies, Dean too busy reaching for Castiel’s wings again to notice what else Castiel was doing, crying out as Castiel sank down into his lap to join their bodies, Dean’s fingers helplessly clutching acres of feathers, darker than night, as Castiel’s lips crashed against his and his hands clutched Dean’s back through his leathers and Castiel sent wave after wave of  _ love,  _ so strong Dean couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, but he didn’t  _ need  _ words, he didn’t  _ need _ to hide how he felt, and he found his bearings for the second time as Castiel rose and fell in his lap, feathers thrashing and rustling in his fists and above him and all around him as he sent the words he had never told anyone in his life as a feeling, the most important inside feeling of all, offering the angel above him everything he was and ever would be as a gift.

_ I love you Castiel. _

Castiel  _ howled _ , his back arching above Dean, white hot pleasure crackling between them as electricity as Castiel accepted Dean’s gift and returned it, with wave after wave of  _ love, _ and  _ joy, _ and  _ endless heat _ , his embers no longer banked but blazing like a grass fire in high winds, Dean’s eyes wide open this time when his angel tore his first climax from him, refusing to stop, demanding more, begging for more, showing Dean how and where he wanted to be touched, Dean astonished to discover he  _ absolutely could _ deliver more,  _ much  _ more, Dean’s garments slowly joining Castiel’s in a pile on the soft earth, Castiel’s pleasure ringing in his mind and in his chest and much lower than that as Dean  _ enthusiastically  _ did everything he was asked and more, things Castiel had not suggested, tasting Castiel’s cries with soft lips and gentle hands, then giving way when it was his turn to be astonished, again and again, neither of them willing to ever let this feeling end.

  
  


*** 

  
  


It was full dark, the moon high in the sky, when Dean finally cried out for mercy and Castiel laughed and collapsed beside him in the grass, his wings tucking away just out of Dean’s reach.

_ Your brother was not terribly hasty in removing my feather. He will not be a child much longer. _

_ Is he okay? I was worried all day but I forgot just now - _

Castiel laughed again for sheer joy, sending soothing energy, and an image from Sam of their father roaring with laughter and cracking jokes with the men about his young stallion son.

Dean flushed furiously in the dark, and Castiel reached soft fingers to pet his face, beaming at him, that gorgeous smile that took Dean’s breath away even by the light of the moon.

_ He’s not wrong. Speaking of stallions, Wind-Containing-Sand says he would very much like the last apple, if it’s all the same to you, and that there are hares bickering across the stream, if we are hungry after all our “exercise.” He thinks he’s hilarious. _

Castiel snorted as Dean’s horse snickered at him, lifting his head from grazing.

_ Wait, *what*? How did you know his name is Sandstorm? _

_ He told me, when I introduced myself and asked him not to spoil the surprise of my arrival for you. He speaks well of you, and with great affection. How did *you* know his name, is the better question? _

Dean was astonished, staring at his horse in the dark, who was  _ definitely  _ grinning at him now.

_ Sam names the horses. He insisted, wouldn’t hear differently, even though he was naming *my* horse. _

_ Well, well, the young Shaman is powerful indeed.  _

Castiel leaned down to kiss Dean’s lips, and Dean melted into his embrace, groaning as his stomach growled and Castiel broke the kiss to lift an eyebrow at him.

_ Shall I roast you a hare? _

_ Oh god, yes please. _

  
  


***

  
  


An hour later Dean was too full to move, Castiel grinning at him across the glowing embers of their cookfire. Dean had never seen a rabbit caught, skinned, and set to roasting over a fire so quickly, and Castiel didn’t seem to need tinder or a flint to start it. But then again, Dean figured there was a lot Castiel could do he couldn’t, so he didn’t ask any questions, content just to watch and not to be the one cooking, for once.

Castiel put the fire out with sand, buried it so there was no trace of their passage, and then he sat beside Dean, so close their sides were touching, and he put his arm around Dean and pulled him down onto his back so they could stare at the stars together. When Dean curled against Castiel’s side, his teeth chattering, Castiel wrapped a wing around him, darker than the night and warmer than any blanket Dean had ever felt, and when Dean’s eyes grew heavy and he slipped away from Castiel into gentle slumber, Castiel wrapped him in thoughts of safety and comfort and begged Sandstorm to take first watch and let him sleep for a few hours, too.

Sandstorm opened his other eye and said only if I don’t have to carry  _ both  _ of you tomorrow, and Castiel swallowed the sounds of his laughter, sending the horse the feeling of soaring on high winds. Sandstorm nickered quietly and sent the feeling of the earth falling away under his hooves, and Castiel admitted it felt glorious, but no, he would not need to be carried. He  _ was,  _ however, weary from flying so swiftly to be united with his human, and he would take second watch, but the night creatures had been multiplying, and  _ please… _

Sandstorm shook his mane and agreed to watch, for he had no wish to be eaten, and he had never seen his human so happy, so that was worth a little sacrifice.

Castiel agreed wholeheartedly and promised treats of delicious things to eat, his second wing wrapping around himself and his human as he drifted away into slumber, and Sandstorm laughed to himself that the flying creature should think him so easy to bribe, but he  _ had  _ procured the entire third apple, and made his human very happy, so that was certainly worth a little more wearyness than usual.

  
  



	7. First Light

Dean woke at first light with a terrible sense of foreboding crushing him, as well as quite a lot of feathers. He stirred under Castiel’s wing and Castiel shifted his body to release him, stretching his wings and cracking and popping his back, so alert Dean understood he had been awake for hours, and he sent an apology for forcing the uncomfortable position, explaining that he had been unable to steal a blanket.

Castiel beamed at him. The horrible sense of foreboding in Dean’s chest lifted as the smile spread across Castiel’s gorgeous features, and it was only then Dean understood it was not his.

_ Is everything alright?  _

Castiel nodded, long fingers caressing Dean’s face.

_ I am composing endless pleas to lay before your father, and I am missing my own father, who was moved by logic and sparing with emotion. And yet. All my arguments, in the end, come down to how I feel about you. _

Castiel sent a wave of fierce affection, so strong Dean was physically pushed backwards a little, and he answered with a surge of fierce joy, his devotion absolute.

_ If he says we can’t be together, then you and I and Sam will leave him behind, we’ll strike out and live in the desert, or get our own jobs as hunters or cowhands or whatever, three of us keeping our wages should be plenty for food and shelter, and Sam will be an awesome Shaman - after he learns how - and he’ll be rich, and famous, and we can be his handlers, guarding the door and telling people when they can see him, and - _

Dean fell silent at the wry amusement on Castiel’s face.

_ *What?* _

There was surprise, and concern, and an undercurrent of pleased disbelief coloring Castiel’s face and his thoughts, clear as day to Dean, now, even though Castiel didn’t seem to be actively sending them.

_ You would leave your father to be with me? _

_ In a heartbeat, Cas. As long as Sammy was safe. He can hit me all he wants, but if he *touches* Sammy - _

Castiel’s sudden rage was fierce and hot, subsuming Dean's quiet anger like a dirt devil made of flames, and Dean’s eyes met Castiel’s, wide, but without fear.

_ He will *never* hit you again.  _

Dean shrugged, his face turning red as he looked at the ground.

_ He hasn’t had to in a couple years. I know how to keep him happy enough. _

_ He *never* had to. If he had laid a hand on you this last year I would have flown without stopping to break every bone in his body, and I would not have been hasty in healing him afterwards, either. Perhaps, were my ire enough, I might even have left him with a collection of insidious fractures, bones to ache when a storm was coming, just to remind him never to lift a hand to *my* human - _

_ You can heal broken bones??? _

Dean was astonished, and Castiel stared at him in puzzlement.

_ Of *course* I can, do they teach you nothing in your species lore classes? But that is not at all the point - _

_ You can’t beat up my Dad, Cas. The men would find a way to kill both of us, then, or me, anyway, and they’d hunt you forever. The lies they already tell about angels are bad enough.  _

Dean forgot he was sending with his mind for a moment, his lips muttering, “We don’t have lore classes. I can’t even read.  _ Sam  _ can read though, he is  _ so smart -”  _ and he was astonished to hear Castiel’s voice answer him in his own language, his voice deep and pleasant, and sending chills down Dean’s spine.

“I will not strike your father, then, I give you my word.”

“You said you don’t speak English!”

Castiel’s lips curved in a soft smile, his eyes very bright.

“I do not.”

More than Dean’s spine was rippling with chills now, and Castiel was suddenly above him, wings outstretched as his lips lowered to Dean’s ear to whisper, his breath raising every hair on Dean’s body.

“You will learn  _ many  _ things that I can do, _ Dean _ , and I will delight in showing you each and every one of them, but before we ride into battle -” Castiel paused, listening, as Sandstorm nickered gently and he amended his last statement - “before  _ you  _ ride into battle and I fly above you into battle, which does not have the same  _ ring  _ in his tongue, Wind-Containing-Sand, but I take your point, before  _ that,  _ I’d like to revisit some of the things you already know I can do.”

But Dean was already fighting with his leathers, laughing, eagerly reaching for his angel, and they made no more sounds that could be described as words for long enough that Sandstorm had plenty of time to have a leisurely breakfast of plump riverbank grasses, shaking his mane at the flies and keeping careful watch, because his human was  _ very  _ preoccupied, and his human’s mate had definitely forgotten it was technically, still, his turn.

  
  
  
  
  



	8. Mine Eyes Have Seen

The men who were working Uncle Bobby’s ranch the day the Winchester family’s fortune began to change could never agree on what had happened, exactly. They agreed that they had seen John Winchester’s errant eldest son returning at a slow walk, his reins loosely looped over the pommel of his saddle, but his horse’s gait steady and his heading true.

The men agreed that they had heard the thunder of hooves from a distance, and seen the youngest Winchester boy approaching at a gallop, bareback, neither saddle nor bridle on the only sound horse that had been left in the paddock that morning, an unbroken mustang that Uncle Bobby had only recently acquired in a trade. 

After that, the men could not agree.

Some said that there had been a man walking beside Dean, strong and bare of chest, with dark hair and bare feet, and some said he was young and some said he had many seasons upon him, but all who saw a man said he had the most detailed tattoos they had ever seen, rich black wings taking up his entire back. The men who saw a stranger said that he stopped when he saw the youngest Winchester approaching, and that Dean’s horse had halted at exactly the same moment, without direction.

Others said there had been an eagle flying in lazy circles above Dean’s head, but the largest eagle they had ever seen, and that the bird’s head and tail feathers had not been white, they had been black as night, and that the bird had alighted on Dean’s shoulder when his horse stopped to wait for Dean’s brother.

They all said that Sam’s wild mustang had come to a halt two horse lengths from Dean’s horse, and that when Sam had slipped from the beast it had waited for him, without rein or saddle, as he ran towards his brother and his brother’s companion, and here accounts differed wildy again.

Some said the stranger had held out his arms and Sam had leapt into them, his face pure joy, and some said the eagle had spread its wings wide, wider than two horses, and that Sam had leapt into its talons, spinning him around and around in the air, but all accounts ended with Dean standing on the ground, his arms around both of them, and no one watching dared make any sound at all. 

After that all three of them continued on foot, or possibly one of them took to the air, the mile or so towards the ranch to find John Winchester, Sam chattering like a runaway locomotive as he was usually only wont to do alone with his brother, such fierce determination on Dean’s face no man dared disturb them, not least because the horses flanked the party, one saddled and bridled and one wild and free, high stepping at the same pace as the Winchester brothers and their companion, by all accounts competing for which of them could shake their mane and whinny with the most conviction.


	9. Showdown at the Uncle’s Corral

The party and their honor guard found John Winchester working on a thrown wagon wheel with uncle Bobby. The horses calmly stood at attention without direction, no one paying them any mind because John and Uncle Bobby were staring at the angel with jet black wings standing beside Dean, his eyes hard.

“Dad, I’d like you to meet  _ Castiel, my -” _

Dean cut himself off abruptly, nodding at the angel although he had not spoken, and Castiel stepped forward, but he did not hold out his hand for shaking.

He waited until John stood up, wiping his hands on his thighs, so they could look one another in the eye, and when he spoke, his voice was low and carried without volume, although the motion of his lips did not seem to match the sounds they made.

“John Winchester, my name is Castiel. I will tell you three tales on this day, and you may choose the one you prefer.”

John made as if to protest, but his sons were flanking the stranger, and Dean’s horse and the wild mustang were flanking  _ them,  _ and Bobby elbowed John to shut the hell up, so John nodded curtly that he would listen.

“A year ago in the desert, I saved your eldest son’s life. I stopped the night creature that would have torn out his throat, but he was still a boy, and I refused to call in a debt by tearing a child from his father. I waited for his father to declare him a man, and upon that day I began the journey here to claim the life debt I am owed. I am here now, to collect Dean into my service, but I find it is not so simple.”

Castiel waved a hand like what he was saying was completely commonplace.

“So few things in life are simple, I find. The younger brother of the man I have come to claim - the brother he raised as a son since they lost their mother - will not leave his side. I will not leave empty handed, and since both the young man and his brother promise me they would rather die than be parted, though it tear the younger child from his father, this is their wish. Although I find it unusual, I have agreed to honor their bond by accepting the younger boy into my service with his brother. You may wish them farewell now.”

John’s face was raw fury, his hand reaching for the pistol in his holster, but neither Dean nor Sam had flinched at all, and Bobby watched their faces shrewdly as Dean and Sam calmly stepped in front of Castiel to block any possible shot, their horses instantly closing ranks widening Bobby’s eyes further, even if John was too angry to notice, and then Bobby’s hand was on John’s shoulder, and John’s hand reluctantly changed trajectory, to use the back of his sleeve to wipe at his forehead.

“Is this true, Dean?”

“Yes, sir.”

John’s eyes could not seem to find a place to land, but Bobby’s hand was still firmly on his shoulder, so he waited without speaking further, vibrating with impotent fury, as Dean and Sam stepped back to either side of Castiel, their horses calmly stepping aside as well, and Castiel continued as though John had not spoken at all.

“Or, perhaps, you would prefer the second tale. 

“A year ago in the desert, I saved your eldest son’s life, and that of all your men, when I and mine cleared the canyon you meant to pass through of night creatures, but in so doing I was mortally wounded. As I lay dying your son told me of the desert flower his mother had taught him could heal such a bite, and though I very nearly died of the fever, in the end I was saved by his grace. I waited until he was a man, beholden to no master, that he might be ready to accept my service, and I am here to repay my life debt to him. I will serve him until the end of my days or his, whichever should come sooner.”

John was astonished, wheels spinning, his rage deflating as quickly as it had come.

“Is  _ this  _ true, Dean?”

“Why did  _ Dean  _ have a fever?” 

John and Sam spoke at the exact same time, and Dean whispered, “Yes, sir,” at his father while Castiel turned to Sam, his eyes very bright.

“That, young Shaman, can only be explained by the third tale.”

“Wait,  _ really?” _

Castiel’s eyes were definitely twinkling this time, as he turned once more to their father, ignoring Sam’s outburst, his face serious despite the way his eyes were dancing.

“Now the  _ third _ tale is my favorite, but you may of course choose whichever you prefer. 

“A year ago in the desert I felt myself inexplicably drawn towards the presence of a human, and I was compelled to see with my own eyes what manner of human could call to me so strongly. It was forbidden to show myself to a human, but I found his life in danger, and I could not stop myself from saving him. He was the most beautiful creature I had ever seen, and though I had never before had any desire to take a mate, I will admit he incited in me thoughts of such a nature.” 

Castiel entirely ignored the disgusted look on John’s face, continuing as though John had merely nodded or even smiled.

“I could not bear to save this human only to see him and his entire family killed by the creatures in the canyon, so I begged my council to make war the next day. They allowed it, but they would not command it, and in the end I enlisted a smaller party of volunteers than I had hoped. We killed the creatures, but some of my friends died, and as I have already revealed to you, I was almost among them. What I could not know then, was that the yearning I felt pulling me towards this human was not only mine. That the human felt it as well, so strongly the bonding between our souls had already begun."

Sam was riveted, and Dean as well, neither of them even caring if John was listening anymore, but he was, his face carefully blank now, Bobby’s hand no longer needing to stay him.

"Our souls were already so entwined after our first meeting that Dean shared the fever that nearly killed me, but I did not know it until many days later. When Dean began to speak to me across vast distances, the secrets of his heart, only then did I understand his youth, for he was fully formed of body, and the humans bloom so quickly it is impossible for my kind to discern such nuances at first glance. 

"I was ashamed of the desire I had revealed to him, and I waited without responding, until his tribe should declare him of an age to be mated; until he should lie with a human, that he might fairly decide for himself if he would entertain my suit. But with each day he spoke to me he grew more dear to me, and each night it grew more painful to keep my silence, for he was more beautiful of heart than any measure of his body."

Castiel was smiling softly at Dean now, and Dean wasn't even trying to hide his feelings, his eyes welling as Castiel gently caressed the dust from the side of his face. Sam was tearing up too, and their father actually looked a tiny bit less disgusted, and a tiny bit moved, even though no one was looking at him.

Castiel turned back to Dean’s father, an air of finality about him now.

"On the day you declared Dean a man, I broke my silence, and only then did I realize the gravity of my misstep. The boy was mine from the moment we met, and he passed his rite of manhood in agony, a pain I would gladly have spared him had I understood that our souls had already bonded without our conscious intent. My kind mates for life. I never have and never will lie with another, but I was taught that all humans could mate at will, and I wonder, now, if our loremasters did not make a mistake.

"Tell me, John, when you visit the humans who will pretend to love you for a fee, who do you shut your eyes to think of?"

John reeled as if he'd been struck, his face absolutely furious, but for a split second haunted by grief, and for the first time in a very long time, Dean felt like throwing his arms around his father and squeezing. 

Dean did not move from Castiel’s side, but Sam, the boy with the biggest heart in the universe, leapt forward to fling his arms around his father’s neck, and after a tense silence, John’s arms came up to answer his embrace, his shoulders shaking quietly but no sound escaping him.

When Castiel spoke again, his voice was gentle. 

"When your son shuts his eyes, he thinks only of me. Would you wish such pain upon him, when joy is within his reach? Would you deny us our bond, when I am _right here,_ willing to work by his side, and to teach the young Shaman - yes, Sam, it's true, stop yelling I can’t hear myself think \- in your midst? I will do this for love."

The threat that he would do it regardless hung in the air between them, and John stared at Castiel over Sam’s head in astonishment for several long moments before turning to Dean, his voice rough.

"Is all of this true?"

Dean did not flinch or look away, his shoulders square and his voice firm.

"Yes, sir."

"I… want you to be happy, son. After we lost your mother, I know - I wasn’t - I didn’t -" 

John couldn't seem to continue with words, but Sam's eyes filled with fresh tears as John faltered, waving a hand and managed to mutter, " _ I’m so sorry. _ If this is what will make you happy, then I guess I'll have to get used to it."

John’s face twisted in concern as he turned to Castiel again, his eyes nervously flicking from Castiel to Dean and back again. 

Castiel's head cocked like an eagle, waiting.

"Would it be alright… could we tell the men... the second story?"

Castiel’s mirth was pure and liliting, and four faces cracked into various degrees of sympathetic smiles watching him laugh, until he managed to wipe his eyes and answer, still grinning. 

"I will leave that up to Dean, but as far as I am concerned you may tell the men anything you like. It would be best if they did not know I am an angel; they need only know that I belong to Dean, and that I will not be parted from him, for I must guard him, _and_ his family, day or night, from _any_ threat of harm.” 

Castiel’s warning could not be mistaken, and John’s eyes fell away in shame. 

“Beyond that, I care not."

_ What say you, my human? _

Dean thought about that for a minute. He marked well the concern on his father’s face, and on Uncle Bobby’s gruff features, and then his gaze traveled to Sam’s huge round eyes, his faith absolute, and he thought about the men who had called Sam a woman and how hard it already was to deal with everything life threw at him on a  _ good _ day.

_ Let’s not make it harder than it has to be, huh? _

Castiel nodded his agreement, and it was Dean who spoke this time, his father’s forehead furrowing as he looked from one to the other of them, clearly communicating without speaking.

“We’ll say that Castiel is my… we’ll say that I saved his life, and he is here to pay the debt, and then when Sammy starts to get famous, he’ll stay on to guard Sam with me and no one will think anything of it.”

Four faces turned to Sam, who was astonished.

“Wait,  _ what?” _

“Told you, Sammy. You’re gonna be famous.”

“You are a healer, Sam,” Castiel said gently. “Like your mother before you.”

Castiel’s stomach chose that moment to interrupt their council with an audible sound, and he turned to Dean plaintively, Dean’s face cracking into a huge smile as Castiel rolled his eyes at him fondly, as though they were entirely alone.

“Must I hunt now? Have you no stores you might share with a weary traveler, come to discharge his debt?”

Dean was already nodding and laughing and turning to lead the way, promising Sandstorm he’d groom him and get him  _ extra  _ grain just after lunch, when Uncle Bobby cleared his throat, and all eyes turned back to hear his verdict.

“In all my born days, never in my wildest dreams thought I’d have an angel nephew-in-law, but life’s funny that way, ain’t it. Welcome to the family, Castiel.”

It turned out Castiel knew exactly what a handshake was after all, and that angels  _ definitely  _ had tear ducts, and he followed Dean to the house with Sam hanging on one arm and chattering like a runaway locomotive, his wings already shimmering out of view, changing from actual feathers into an intricate tattoo on his bare back. 

John and Bobby watched them go without saying a word to one another, returning to work on the thrown wagon wheel like nothing at all had just happened, and definitely not like nothing would ever be quite the same again.


	10. All Quiet

That afternoon, Dean and Castiel built a platform in the tallest tree on Uncle Bobby’s ranch, a tree Dean did not know the name of but Castiel was satisfied he could keep watch from a hundred feet off the ground and that was enough for Dean. They cut branches from other trees to build a platform wide enough for three men, or one man and an angel, to comfortably sleep, and perhaps do other things of an athletic nature, and wrapped a branch and rope barrier around the edges in case one of those sleepers could not fly. They made no roof to hide the stars because Castiel promised they would not need one, and when their labor was done, despite it being almost time to prepare the evening meal, they tested their construction on principle, and found it so good they missed the meal entirely, and while Dean couldn’t help worrying that his family might have trouble figuring it out without him, he didn’t worry  _ too _ hard. 

Although Dean  _ could  _ climb down on his own, Castiel’s arms wrapping around him in the half-light of dusk and his lips brushing Dean’s as he slowly floated them both down to earth felt so magical Dean could not imagine ever descending any other way. 

When they joined the men around the campfire to share whiskey and play cards, Dean’s new bond servant, or perhaps his best friend - no one could really tell and no one dared ask - was such a natural at strategy he made instant friends of every man present but John Winchester, teaching them new games as fast as they could learn them.

That week, Dean and Castiel and his new apprentice Sam, astride his proud mustang that no other man could approach, settled into a new work routine that found the three of them somehow doing the work of at least six men. Castiel, however, asked no additional wages, and quietly assisted any man who found himself struggling, so in the end no man could find it in themselves to resent the new hire. 

When their wages came, this time Bobby handed Dean’s pay directly to Dean instead of to John, his brows lifting in surprise when Castiel handed his to Dean as well, even higher when Dean declared he was taking Castiel into town to his favorite saloon.

Dean did take Castiel into town, but he took him first to buy a pair of boots, and a pair of jeans, and socks - although he could not convince him to wear a shirt - and that exhausted both of their pay for the week. Dean still took Castiel to the saloon though, and when he stepped inside he found the Madam, and he gave her a real smile, and he told her that this was his friend, who made him happy, and that he was here to repay her kindness; was there anywhere they could discuss a proposition.

The Madam  _ was _ kind, although she shushed Dean because she didn’t want that sort of thing to get spread around, but she was also shrewd and had a fine business sense, and when Dean and Castiel followed her into a room that was red but also gold and explained what they had in mind, she could not believe her good fortune. 

The women sent to entertain the Madam’s new best customers were given laudanum and assured these men had gentle tastes, if voracious appetites, and one by one they slipped into the room in a daze, to remember only that the men were beautiful, and that the one with dark hair had touched them very gently, and then they must have fallen asleep from the laudanum but had woken later feeling refreshed and mysteriously cured of any ailments they had been suffering,  _ more _ than willing to say the things the Madam explained were the cost for such continued good fortune.

John was secretly baffled but also intensely relieved when the rumors of his eldest son’s voracious appetite and laudable prowess reached his ears, exceeded only by the rumors about his new friend, but John tried not to listen to those, unable to keep himself from imagining the two of them together, the thorn in his side smaller now, but no less sharp.

That month, between Castiel and his eager apprentice, every calf on Uncle Bobby’s ranch was born sound of limb and strong of breath, and not a single cow was lost during calving. No one could remember such an auspicious Spring, ever, but it wasn’t until John’s horse lost its footing in a gopher hole and fell, throwing his rider and shattering a femur each, that John’s mind was truly softened towards his son’s mate, because Castiel was at his side within minutes, appearing, breathless from the sky, to lay gentle hands on John’s leg, his pain gone as quickly as it had come.

John still could not find the words to thank Castiel or to look him in the eye, but he loved his horse, and he could find the words to beg, with tears in his eyes, for the beast’s life.

When Castiel knelt beside John’s horse it stopped screaming, and when it leapt to its feet, John  _ could _ find the words to thank him for that, reaching out in surprise to catch Castiel by the shoulder as he swayed on his feet and then collapsed, remanding him gratefully into Dean’s care as Dean arrived at a gallop, astride Sandstorm, who for once deigned to carry both his master and his unconscious angel to the foot of their tree. 

Dean somehow climbed the branches with Castiel slung over his shoulders, and he laid him down in the nest Castiel had made for them of blankets and pillows that never got wet or blew away, and waited for him to wake up.

When Castiel’s eyes fluttered open some time later, he was astonished.

“How did you carry me?”

“I don’t know.” Dean brushed soft lips over Castiel’s forehead, his brow still creased in worry. “Are you alright?”

“Yes. Healing broken bones is much more difficult than ailments of the flesh, but I feel much better already, and I should be fully recovered after I eat and perhaps sleep for a few more hours.”

“And if I kissed it better?” Dean’s tone was playful, his fingers tracing the place Castiel’s wing met his shoulder, and Castiel shuddered, his wings rustling at the touch.

“Is this a human medicine I do not know?”

Dean’s lips were trailing soft kisses down Castiel’s stomach, heedless of the dust settled there since Castiel steadfastly refused to wear a shirt.

“Yes, although I can’t say my mother ever taught me  _ this  _ part _. _ ”

Dean’s nimble fingers already had Castiel’s jeans unbuttoned and unzipped and were already busy gripping great big handfuls of feathers before he pressed his first healing kiss to Castiel’s flesh and Castiel understood he was not telling the truth, but Castiel’s back was arching towards the sky and all manner of speech was lost to him for several minutes, nothing but white hot pleasure crackling in his mind and body.

_ I love you Castiel. _

_ I love you, too, Dean.  _

Castiel’s smile was brighter than the waning sun as he grinned up at Dean, using his lips to speak because he liked the way the sound of his voice affected his mate.

“I think I feel a little healed, but I could be  _ more  _ healed…”

“You don’t say.”

Dean’s eyes glittered like jewels in the sunset as he grinned down at Castiel, and then his lips slipped south to offered further remedy, and Castiel was soaring again, but not with his wings, those were thrashing and rustling between his mate’s talented fingers, one part of the wild rumors of his voracious appetite absolutely true, after all.

When Sam hollered up from the base of the tree that dinner was ready, come  _ on,  _ Castiel was healed enough to hastily get dressed and float himself and Dean to the ground, where Sandstorm was still keeping watch, and willing to carry them both to the main house on promise of sugar cubes later.

That night when John Winchester invited him to play cards for the first time, a tightness Castiel had not known was there released itself from his chest, and when John _won_ , Castiel almost didn’t mind, his eyes narrowing into mostly playful fury as he demanded a rematch. Dean and Sam unrepentantly giggled themselves into knots, and Castiel glared at them, his face pretending to snarl but his heart full.

_ This… feels like family, Dean. _

_ It *is* family, Cas. You’re ours now, and that’s all there is to it. Now shut up and deal. _

For once, Castiel did as he was told without argument.

  
  


***


End file.
